


Running

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-17
Updated: 2003-04-17
Packaged: 2019-05-15 12:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14790929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: It wasn't far from her door to her bedroom, but it seemed like a thousand miles of stupidity and half-submerged consciousness now.





	Running

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Running**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Donna, Sam  
 **Category(s):** Drama, Romance  
**Pairing(s):** Donna/Sam  
**Rating:** R for language and sexual references  
**Summary:** It wasn’t far from her door to her bedroom, but it seemed like a thousand miles of stupidity and half-submerged consciousness now.  
**Author's Note:** Think Early Season Three and it should make more sense.  


It was the way his voice had cracked when he said her name. On the second syllable it had broken, and he'd sounded lost. Young. Afraid. So unlike himself that she wanted to put him back together with invisible stitches and stroke the back of his neck, and feel warm again. That was the thing - they were cold now, and nothing kept them warm.

It was important that he be beautiful and soft and malleable. She wanted to restore him, because everything was out of balance unless he was the softest. The kindest.

She could have held out against touching, physical proximity, drunken declarations and boyish idiocy, or flattery and adoration and flirting. At one time or another over the last four years - mostly subconsciously - he'd used those methods against her. They were natural to him; he was too good-looking, too striking and lovely. He was beautiful, and he knew it. He shone and sparkled and radiated and flirted with nearly everybody because nearly everybody flirted with him.

But Donna had withstood his unknowing attentions over the years, and had slipped silently between his fingers every time. She understood that part of his attention was a genuine attraction. But part of it was simply his modus operandi, and she didn't make it anything more than that.

She was surrounded by politicians - brilliant, mountain-moving politicians - so she understood personas and faces and masks. She understood that reality was just beyond their fingertips, that it came around infrequently, and it felt like the quiet moments between Toby and CJ, or the smiles that Josh and Leo shared when they thought nobody was looking.

And besides, she'd never been drawn to him like that, so the slipping had always been unthinking and easy, and it hadn't caused any tension. He was too neat for her; too organized; too independent.

But he'd stood in her doorway and said "Donna", like somebody had taken away his favourite toy. Like somebody had told him his best friend had been shot. Like somebody had broken his pride and his happiness, and posted it back to him in little pieces and then stared at him with absolute pity.

She knew he couldn't bear the pity.

It wasn't far from her door to her bedroom, but it seemed like a thousand miles of stupidity and half-submerged consciousness now.

But it was his voice.

That's why she was lying here, wrapped in the sheets and limbs and him, marked, branded and warm. That's why his chest moved against hers evenly, peacefully. She was tangled in their smell. They had a scent now; they would always carry it. And if not the thing itself, the memory of the time they'd made a scent.

It was his damn voice. He'd sounded needy.

And that's why Sam was lying beside her.

****

When her phone rang at 4.30, CJ sat up and answered it halfway through the first ring. Deep sleep was a luxury she barely remembered these days.

A 4.30 call was usually Leo with a crisis, or a drunk Josh. Sometimes Toby asking her to come in.

"Hello," she answered, already coherent.

"It's me," Donna said.

"What’s wrong?" CJ yanked at the sheets. She overbalanced and nearly fell out of bed. Cursed; righted herself; blinked a few times. "What's he done this time?"

"Nothing."

"No, I know that tone of voice." But it occurred to CJ that she didn't recognize that tone of voice at all. It was low, satisfied. Guilt-ridden and strained. Which meant only one thing. "Oh God. Donna, why? Why now? You couldn't hold out for a few more years? Or even months? Until after re-election?"

"In my defence, I didn't exactly plan _this_."

"Of course not," CJ caustically replied. "You two have been circling around each other since the moment you walked into his office."

"Sam didn't have an office. Just a desk he shared with Toby in the middle of the reception area."

CJ had visions of reporters dancing across her retinas, all demanding to know how Donnatella Moss had got her job as the Deputy Chief of Staff's assistant. "I know Sam didn't have an office. I wasn't talking about Sam."

"I was."

"Yes, I know you were. But we have bigger problems."

"And I met Sam when he walked into Josh's office. He laughed and said, 'I can see why he kept you'. Then he took me across the road and bought me coffee and a muffin and told me that Josh was a shit to work for." Donna sighed. "He was right."

"Yes, he was," the press secretary agreed severely.

"That was a very nice thing of Sam to do. To buy me coffee and a donut. He was very nice to me those first few weeks."

CJ rubbed her forehead "Donna, why are you still talking about Sam?"

"Well, who are you talking about?"

"You and Josh."

"What about Josh and I?" Donna asked, confused.

Suddenly CJ realized. "Sam? You...Sam...but...Sam?"

"You thought I slept with Josh?"

"Yes."

"If I slept with Josh I wouldn't call you a scant two hours later. I'm not stupid, CJ." Donna paused. "Okay, at this point in time, you could legitimately call me stupid. But usually I'm quite clever. Intelligent, even."

"It happened two hours ago? Sam's still there?"

"He's asleep."

"Well that's okay, then."

"Is it?" Donna asked.

"No," CJ yelped. "It's not okay. It's so far from okay there aren't even words. You...with Sam. Sam Seaborn. What in the name of the Goddess were you thinking?!"

"Nice touch with the Goddess."

"Thanks, but what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. He just showed up on my doorstep and he said my name and..."

"He said your name so you had sex with him?"

"It wasn't like that," Donna said defensively. "Well, it was, but it wasn't. He was so...forlorn. Yes, that's it \- forlorn. Little, forlorn Sam. After Lisa, and everything else that's been going on. We've both seen how upset he's been about being left out of the loop."

"You couldn't just make a cup of coffee and talk? Or feed him some Ben and Jerry's and watch old movies with him?"

"CJ..."

"Sam being upset is not a good enough reason to have sex with him!"

"Okay CJ, you need to move past the having sex concept. It's already happened, and I can't undo it. But what the hell do I do now?"

"Undo it!"

"CJ, you're starting to sound hysterical."

"Because I planned for you and Josh. I have plans, and back-up plans, and contingency plans for you and Josh. I have plans with letters...actual letters, Donna! I have Situation Room kind of plans for you and Josh. Not for you and Sam. I didn't plan for that."

Donna was quiet a long moment, and when she responded, her voice was subdued. "Neither did I."

CJ was quiet for a long time. "Obviously you need to talk to Sam."

"Do I have to?"

"He's going to wake up eventually," CJ pointed out. "And he'll probably want to talk to you, even if it's just to say 'good morning, Donna'. He'll possibly want to eat breakfast, even. If things are really bad, he'll be expecting a repeat performance."

"Can't I just leave before that happens?"

"It's your apartment, Donna."

"So? I can move somewhere else. I could stay with..."

"So help me God if you say Josh."

"...Toby," Donna finished lamely. "I could live with Toby, and we could discuss philosophy and the Art of Protesting and Satre and why he's so grumpy all the time."

"He's grumpy all the time because people keep asking why he's grumpy all the time. Plus, Toby hates Satre. And if the Patron Saint of Compassion, Andrea Wyatt, couldn't live with Toby, neither can you, Donna."

"I can't...I don't know..."

"Well, until you find out what Sam's thinking, you shouldn't worry about anything."

"What? There are many things to worry about. Many, many things."

"And none of them can be dealt with until Sam wakes up."

Donna's voice dropped an octave. "I can't...do this."

"Too late."

Donna sighed. "Yeah. Okay."

"I'm going to hang up now. Goodbye." CJ lay back down.

"Who was that?" Toby mumbled, his face buried under the covers.

"Doesn't matter. Go back to sleep."

She was just drifting off when Toby said, "The Patron Saint of Compassion?"

"She is."

He reached out with his little finger and followed the curve of her spine. "Saints are boring."

CJ shifted closer towards him and smiled lazily.

****

Sam woke up suddenly.

Unlike Josh, who wrestled with wakefulness for as long as possible, and CJ who only made sense about twenty minutes after rising, Sam had always been the chipper, early-morning riser who saw sunrises and other such annoying things.

CJ, Toby and Josh hated mornings with Sam on the campaign.

Donna was like Sam, and they'd shared breakfast and newspapers and sunrises most mornings on the campaign, and then taken great pleasure in mercilessly annoyed the others when they finally bestirred and appeared, red-eyed and grumpy.

That's why when Sam opened his eyes he wasn't surprised to see Donna sitting up on her side of the bed, looking intently at him.

"Morning," she said.

"Ah...morning," he replied. "H - how are you?"

"Fine, thanks. How are you?"

"Fine." They both paused. "What's the time?" Sam continued.

"It's nearly six-thirty," Donna informed him without needing to look at a clock or watch. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Ah...sure," Sam said.

She hopped off the bed. He remembered her pyjamas from last night - remembered being amused by how un-Donna they were. They were Winnie the Pooh pyjamas that might once have been bright blue, but were now grey and threadbare. The elastic in the waistband had gone and she was constantly tugging them up. But they kept falling down, revealing the swale in the small of her back. There was a hole in the shirt, on her right shoulder.

He'd managed to get them off her in the bedroom doorway and the moonlight through the bedroom windows had turned her skin the silver-blue of graveyard statues and indifferent oceans.

And he'd stopped being amused.

"Come out to the kitchen when you're ready," Donna said, hurrying through the bedroom door and down the hall.

Ready?

Sam rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There were cracks in the cornice closest to his head. He wondered if Donna had noticed. He'd never seen her bedroom before, and last night didn't really count. It was nice. Blue- and white-striped quilt and curtains; mahogany dresser and bedside table. Bright scarves hung off the mirror; a pair of shoes had been kicked off in front of the cupboard; there was a Degas print on the wall; a mobile of hummingbirds hung off the end of the curtain rod. A pair of earrings - hoops from yesterday - were on the beside table, along with a stack of books and journals.

On the dresser was a photo of her with a dark-haired woman who was an exact copy of Donna. Except for the hair. A sister, obviously.

And another photo of Donna, Josh, Sam, Toby, and CJ standing in the Communications Bullpen, the first day they'd started at the White House. Donna had been dragged into the photo as reluctantly as Toby, claiming she wasn't part of the Senior Staff. Josh and Sam had ignored her, pinning her between their bodies and holding her there.

Sam rolled his eyes at the irony. Then he rolled over so he didn't have to look at the way Josh's arm curled around Donna's waist. The imprint of Donna's body was on the other side of the bed, and he could smell her musky perfume and fruity shampoo. He could smell himself.

What the hell did ready mean?

Sam didn't have a clue, but a shower seemed like a good start.

****

It was frighteningly domestic when Sam wandered into the kitchen with wet hair, bare feet, his jeans from last night, and only two of the buttons on his blue shirt done up. It felt like something. Something she should be chary of.

And there was Donna, in her pyjamas, scrambling eggs with bed hair, wearing her oldest, ugliest pyjamas, with two hickeys marking her neck.

It was a moment outside of her - she seemed to be gliding through it, not stuck down to it. Flying serenely above it, because there was no possible way she could be standing in her kitchen with a half-dressed Sam, cooking breakfast for him and wearing his hickeys.

There was nothing firm about her presence.

Until he stepped up behind her - closer than he would have yesterday - and asked, "Can I help you with anything?"

He was too close. And the steam still rising from Sam's body and the way his eyes flickered down to her purple-red hickeys made it all too real.

Donna kept her back to him, forced herself not to lean into his heat, and lightly replied, "No. The Post is on the bench if you want to read it."

Sam turned and found the Post sitting next to a cup of coffee, black and strong; exactly the way he liked it. The kitchen was neat and ordered. He should have known her home would be neat. Her workspace was meticulous, a fact made more obvious by the chaos that characterized Josh's office.

The colour scheme of the kitchen was warm, with tones of orange and yellow; the fridge was covered in messages, flyers, photos, articles, and large magnets; her sugar bowl was a cow; there were fresh sunflowers in a vase near the breadbox. The window sill was lined with little plant-boxes of herbs.

These were details he hadn't expected to ever know about Donna. But then, he hadn't ever expected to touch the crease where her thigh met her hip. He might have expected to kiss her - thought about it idly a few times. But he hadn't ever thought about kissing her navel.

"Danny's got a piece on page three," she said, her back still turned.

"You've read the paper already?"

"Mm. I've been up since three." Donna grabbed the toast as it jumped up out of the toaster and started buttering it.

"Oh. I didn’t - I didn’t notice that you were gone...from bed."

"You were sleeping rather heavily."

Sam hesitated. "I do that after - after...well…"

Donna tossed him a surreal smile over her shoulder. "I figured as much. Me? I'm usually jumpy and energetic."

She spooned the eggs onto the plates, balanced them on one arm, grabbed her own coffee and sat down next to him at the bench.

"Thanks," he said, as she slid one of the blue stoneware plates towards him. "This is great."

Sam couldn't remember the last person who'd made breakfast for him. It might have been Lisa. Lisa was a bad cook - the eggs had always been underdone, and the toast had always been burnt. This meal was perfect.

She shrugged. "No problem. You've got that meeting with Senator Calhoun this morning, about his amendments to the Child Immunisation Bill. I've got some notes I was typing for…" Donna trailed off, but recovered quickly. "That I was typing up. Do you want to take a look at them?"

"Um…sure."

"And I think, this afternoon, you're sitting in on a speechwriter's meeting. Aren't you guys pulling apart the President's speech on the changes to capital gains tax?"

"Stop being my assistant."

"I'm not," Donna denied.

Sam put his fork down. "Then what are you doing, Donna?"

Her eyes went wide. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you doing?" he repeated, not ceding an inch of ground.

She floundered. "I'm…I'm eating breakfast. I'm discussing work with one of my colleagues…I'm…"

"Wearing two hickeys that said colleague gave you last night. What are you doing?"

Her gaze faltered and she looked down at her eggs. "I'm pretending it didn't happen."

"And how much longer do you think that'll work for you?" Sam asked.

"About another thirty seconds."

"And what are you going to do after that?"

"I'm not sure."

Sam nodded. "Then you'll be in the same place I am." He resumed eating his eggs. "These are good."

"Thanks."

"It wasn't a Josh thing."

His name fell between them the way Donna had imagined it would: like a medicine ball. Deceptively light - horribly heavy.

"I don’t - I know it wasn’t," she replied, although she certainly didn’t know that. Not for certain, anyway. Sam was attached to Josh, in ways that seemed more than just friendship. If people thought she and Josh had a subtext, they could hardly have missed Josh and Sam’s.

"It wasn’t some stupid college frat boy thing about one-upmanship, or possession or…something. It wasn’t because Josh is my best friend and he and you - " Sam cast about momentarily for the words - "Have electricity."

Donna laughed in spite of herself. "We have what?"

"It’s an expression my grandmother used to use. People have electricity. They light up when the other one is near. Like that person flicks a switch in them."

She laughed again, but it sounded hollow to both of them. "Josh and I don’t have that. We do push each other's buttons."

"You definitely have electricity. Everyone can see it. But that wasn't the reason for last night. You’re not…some stupid competition or conquest, or pawn."

She swallowed her mouthful. "I know."

"For you it was about Josh," Sam asserted confidently.

Donna realized that she never thought of Sam as the confident one.

Toby was so certain of things, so present and intense, and nobody could possibly miss CJ's iridescent entrance into a room. She walked like a woman who knew. What she knew nobody was quite sure of - that was part of CJ’s mystery. Leo towered above everybody in stature and command, and Josh…well…the word confident for Josh's attitude was just wrong. Too weak for his brand of arrogance and self-assurance.

And always, lagging behind in everybody's mind was Sam. They always underestimated him, because he was quiet and beautiful and gentle with people. He cared in obvious, immediate ways and he wasn't afraid to show you. He was the one to reach out and squeeze your hand, or hug you, when the others would hover or use a word or a glance. Because Sam came across as the ingénue. The baby.

It had never occurred to Donna that he was strong: maybe smarter than all of them.

It was his bigger heart, she realized. Everybody thought that was a weakness. An uncertainty.

"The President has a big heart," she said aloud.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"Well, President Bartlet has a big heart."

"Yes, he does," Sam agreed.

"Nobody calls that a weakness in him. I think your heart makes you the most confident of everybody."

His brow wrinkled. "I'm officially lost."

"I just…I never realized."

"Donna…I don't…what are you…"

"Sorry." She shook her head. "I…it wasn't about Josh. It was about me."

Sam didn't believe her, anymore than he believed he was ready to have this conversation. Donna's acquiescence last night had been all about Josh. All about Josh's behaviour lately. About Donna's need to be needed.

"The eggs are good," he repeated.

"You already said that."

"Yes, I did."

Donna reached out and laid her hand over his. "Why me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, why not Ainsley?"

****

He stood in the doorway and said her name, so Donna kissed him.

She didn't ask why he was here. She just kissed him. It was easier, and it was what he wanted, and truthfully, it was what she wanted as well.

Donna kissed him haltingly, skimmed her fingertips up his long neck and down his cheekbone. Her mouth couldn't find a rhythm, and her breathing wasn't right. Her breaks were wrong and uneven and she struggled to control it.

Sam wasn't helping any.

He was hurrying and stopping and starting again. His hands moved from one place to another; he undid two or three buttons, and then pulled at her faded pyjama pants. His mouth kept coming back before she was quite ready.

They stumbled blindly through her apartment towards her bedroom. Their hips and knees knocked furniture; their elbows skinned walls, their mouths crashed against each other.

Donna had always figured that kissing Sam would be gentle. Soft. Careful. Certainly skilful, because the man had half the small number of female employees of the West Wing lusting after him and it had to be more than just his good taste in clothes and his smile.

And the skill was there, but it was forceful and strong and too much like a battle.

Donna understood it; understood how he'd stepped out of his skin tonight, even by coming here. By wanting something and going after it without hesitation. Without thought and careful consideration of all the consequences. Without consulting anybody else, because that's what Sam did. And now, he was trying to push too much, block this out even in the middle of it.

So, Donna stopped him in her doorway or her bedroom, hands resting against his chest. She'd undone some buttons, and her skin met his firm muscles. "Sam," she said breathlessly, speaking for the first time since he'd knocked on her door. "No."

And she kissed him again, all succulent and careful and slow, with deliberateness. She kissed him like peaches and willows and slow-burning gold sunsets. She kissed him like a sane woman. She kissed him until they found a rhythm.

His hands had responded, finding her pyjama top and methodically pushing the buttons through their holes. After a moment, he pushed the two sides apart, turning the skin of her stomach silver. His skin turned a strange bronze, and the moonlight caught all the planes and valleys of Sam’s body.

Sam was Michelangelo's David; he was perfect. There was no wear on his body; not an ounce of fat; not a blemish. Everything was in proportion; everything matched. His features were arresting and classic. She wanted to just stop and look, but his hands urged her hands, and she traced this perfection instead.

She found herself looking for it, searching his symmetrical body for a freckle, a mark of any description. A scar.

But there was nothing.

  
****

"I…what do you mean?"

"You and Ainsley have a thing," Donna promptly responded. He wondered how she could always be so coherent. Be so verbally flexible.

It hadn't always been her skill. As a teenager, she'd stumbled for words. Struggled for meaning, and wondered if that was the lot of every adolescent, or just her. She was the girl in the back of the class who knew the right answer, but never said it aloud.

"We do not," Sam countered.

"Oh, don't even try and deny it."

He thought for a moment. "Okay, we have a thing."

Donna continued, because she hadn't really needed Sam's answer. "But she wouldn't have been willing. You'd have to date Ainsley a few times before you'd get anything."

Sam frowned. "You think? I think the sex kitten thing is pretty accurate."

"But she wouldn’t have understood," Donna countered. "I get it, Sam."

"Get what?"

"You feel like you're always on the outside. You think you're told everything last."

"Well, I am." He couldn't help the bitterness that crept in. It was like finding a grey hair, or a wrinkle. He’d woken up one morning, looked in the mirror and realized there was a streak of bitterness in him. And there was no cream or pill or transplant for it.

She shook her head slightly. "You’re not the last because nobody trusts you. It’s just…the desire in everybody to protect you."

"I don’t want to be protected!"

"I know." Donna squeezed his fingers. "I know. But you feel all those things, and then you feel lost, and lonely. And I’m not complicated. Ainsley is. There's a real commitment to be made there."

"You weren’t…you’re not an easy lay, Donna."

"I know."

He looked up and saw steadiness in her eyes. "How do you have things so together?"

Donna laughed. "I don't have things together. I just look like I do. It's part of my job - to keep things together for you guys. For…Josh."

"After…" Sam hesitated, wondering if he should go on. "After Rosslyn it looked like you had things together. That’s what Josh needed. Someone who knew what they were doing."

"Yes."

"Don't you get sick of being that woman?"

"Of being needed?" Donna clarified. "I’m not Toby. I have…I like to be needed. That’s not about approval. Maybe a few years ago it was. But Josh and I…it’s always been about him needing me. And you know, that really gave me the power. Not him."

"I never thought you were weak," Sam told her. "None of us ever did. You’re like…you just became indispensable. And not like a lap-dog. You know things the rest of don't. You understand things we don't. You're good at things, and you contribute and you’re…indispensable."

Donna shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Sam. Somebody else...anybody else could learn to be those things."

"No, they couldn't. Don't efface yourself like that."

"I'm…"

Sam said, sharper than he meant to, "He might pretend he doesn't need you anymore, but the rest of us do."

Her body stilled and her eyes opened wide. "Sam, I…."

"I need you."

"Not like this." She gestured between them. "Not again, like this. This isn't going to happen again," she asserted.

"I know."

"It was nice. I'm not just saying that."

"It was nice. And I'm not just saying that."

"It’s just…there’s too much, Sam. Sitting here, between us. Work, and history, and our friends, and our loyalties. We aren't the only people sitting in the room right now," Donna said quietly.

It was true. Sam could feel the others. He couldn’t go anywhere without them. He saw baseball and thought of Toby; he saw pools and remembered CJ’s incoherent rage at that party; Christmas music made him wary and he watched Josh more often in December. The smell of vanilla always bought Donna to mind, although he didn’t know why. He marked time by them; he changed seasons with them; he mimicked them; laughed with them and at them; ached for them; pulled against their bonds and hated how claustrophobic it was.

But he always returned to them. Because he didn’t know any other way. He could remember the time before them, but he couldn’t remember feeling so fulfilled.

They would be inside each other for the rest of their lives.

"I know," Sam admitted. "I'm sorry for just turning up like that last night. I couldn't think. I got a call from Lisa, and I couldn't think and I just drove over here."

Donna wasn’t surprised; she’d figured it was something like that. "Lisa rang?"

"She’s…she’s engaged. To another journalist. He asked a few weeks after she came up for the article. She’s happy, and it was nice of her to tell me in person. And I'm glad for her, but I just…I felt everything slipping away from me."

"And you just sit and watch it slide?" Donna asked, familiarity marking her voice. "Because there's nothing else to be done."

He nodded. "I got in the car, and when I looked up, I was here. And I barrelled in here and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I didn't say no, Sam. I could have. We'll go Dutch treat on the guilt, okay?"

He half-smiled. "Okay."

Her forefinger rubbed his thumb. "You’re so…you stay with people, Sam. In a good way. You have a beautiful heart. And that’s more than…it's more important than anything else."

Sam hesitated before asking, "I'm not sure about the etiquette of this, but…a hug?"

Donna laughed. "You don't have to ask for a hug." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Things will probably be awkward for the next few days."

"I'm going to fumble and blush a lot when I see you at the office."

"You'll be thinking about me naked?" Donna guessed.

"Yes."

She thought for a moment. "I'm flattered."

She’d be thinking about him too.

****

Sam did fumble and blush when he bumped into her after Senior Staff only a few hours later. She was wearing a turtleneck, and her mouth looked used and lush, and he nearly froze when he saw her walking down the hall towards them.

Josh didn’t notice, but he hadn’t expected that. The past few months, Josh had become increasingly unobservant. That’s why he hadn’t seen Donna’s slowly mounting rage and frustration.

He wouldn’t see it until his assistant left him.

But Sam blushed and fumbled and Donna acted completely normal, and he managed to get through it. She was good at that; acting normal; putting on masks. She did it better than any of them, but nobody called her a politician.

He thought that Toby noticed something, but very little went past his boss. CJ wasn’t there, and Sam avoided the press secretary, because her x-ray vision scared the shit out of him.

And so the week went.

Her body came back to him at the oddest moments. He’d see her hurrying down the hall and remember the way hips had rocked, almost imperceptibly at first, sending shivers down to his fingertips.

Donna laughed at something on Tuesday afternoon and he remembered the huskiness in her voice; the half-moan in the back of her throat.

At lunch on Wednesday, she handed him a napkin and their fingers brushed and he recalled moonlight dancing down her spine.

On Thursday morning, he was talking to her near the Roosevelt Room about a file, when Ginger breezed past and teasingly told Sam to stop flirting with Donna and get to Senior Staff. He stammered and stuttered until Donna said, smiling, "He’ll stop flirting when he's good and ready."

It was late Friday afternoon when Josh walked into his office and said, "Has Donna seemed weird to you this week?"

Sam’s head reared up immediately. "What?"

Josh leant against the doorframe, his features arranged in puzzlement. "Donna? My blonde assistant? She’s got a mouth on her. You do remember her, right?"

Sam remembered things Josh had never seen. "Yes."

"Has she seemed…weird to you?"

"No. Why - why would she be weird?"

"I don’t know. She’s been walking around like she knows something I don’t."

Ah, safer territory. Sam exhaled with relief. "She probably does. Donna knows many things that you don’t, Josh. That's why she’s the assistant and you’re just the boss."

"Yeah, well." Josh frowned. "Donna definitely knows something. And I don’t like it. It might be a guy."

"Why do you care?"

Josh shrugged uneasily. "I don’t," he lied.

"You do." Sam leant back and decided the offensive was the safest play. "You always care about Donna and other guys."

"I just don’t want another guy screwing her over like Dr. Freeride did."

"She can take care of herself," Sam countered.

"She really can’t. I'm convinced that’s why Donna and I met - so I could rid the world of the scum who chase after her."

"Donna’s a big girl."

Josh’s eyes narrowed. "What do you know?"

"Nothing," Sam replied, gripping his knee under the desk and praying his expression was neutral. It probably wasn’t. "Whatever it is, I'm sure she'll tell you soon."

"I guess. She just…she’s been distant from me, lately."

"Why should she be near?"

"What?"

"You say she’s been distant from you. Why should she be near to you?"

"She - I don’t know. She shouldn’t. I just…" Josh shrugged. "I don’t know."

Josh did know - Sam could see it in his eyes. But he was afraid, so he was going to mess up the best thing that had happened to his life, and Sam was going to watch it happen. And Josh wouldn't listen, so Sam couldn't say anything. He just had to watch.

"You should go to your meeting," Sam said.

Josh lingered a moment in consideration, then went.

Sam sat, unmoving for ten minutes.

Then he walked over to Operations and found Donna tidying up Josh's office. She saw him standing in the doorway and smiled ruefully. "I can only do this when he's busy in meetings."

Sam surveyed the mess. "He’s unbelievable."

"Yes, he is."

Once, there would have been a light in Donna's eye when she said that. Now, there was nothing. Once, there would have been pride - and maybe something deeper - in Sam’s voice, but it was empty and flat.

He couldn’t remember the depth of anything; the richness of feeling.

Sam leaned across the desk and kissed her hard.

Donna pulled away after a second and took three short steps back. She lifted a hand up, as if to ward him off. "What the hell was that?"

"I…I don’t know."

"We agreed. Not again."

"Yes, we did agree."

"We should stick to the agreement."

"We should."

"Agreements are important," Donna added.

"They are."

"I mean, where would be without NATO?"

"I have no idea." Sam watched her, and waited, because he knew Donna couldn't care less about NATO.

She put her files down, walked around the desk and kissed him back. Her hands wrapped possessively around his neck and gripped his collar. Tight, but he didn't care, because her mouth was amazing.

"Someone will see us," she said, breaking off.

"Probably."

She kissed him again and moved her body closer. "You’re so angry about your life you can’t think straight, and you're running as fast as you can."

He twisted his fingers through her hair. "You’re in love with a man who’s pretending he doesn’t love you back. And you're running as fast as you can."

Donna’s answering kiss was savage, dangerous, masculine. She ripped away and rested her forehead against his neck. His pulse beat fast against her temple. "Someone really will see us. And there'll be trouble."

"Who cares?" Sam returned, pressing his lips back to hers, and pushing her hips against Josh's desk.

That was thing, Donna thought bleakly. They didn't care. Neither of them. About much, anymore.

This was so fucking stupid.

Someone would find out and everything would collide. This was the moment before the crash, and the car was veering out of control, and Donna couldn't do a damn thing. Didn't want to do a damn thing.

But she knew it would end badly.

********

End


End file.
